Page 122 of Whirlwind

“No.” I cuffed her wrist.

She jerked back at the contact. “No?”

“I need this sexual energy for the rehearsal.”

“Sexual energy that you have for me?”

“All for you.”

“Does this mean I get a post-rehearsal adrenaline-high fuck?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Goody. I’ll meet you back here then.”

“Where are you off to?”

“Tag’s. I’m going to review today’s footage with him and Lars and Stone, and discuss shooting Kaspar’s concert. I’m so excited to be in on the planning phase for that.”

I flipped her on her back and she let out a gasp. “I need to make you come before we leave.”

“You do, Tarzan?”

I yanked up the long batik skirt she wore and nuzzled her between her legs. Her cotton panty was already wet. I sucked on her nub through the fabric, knowing that would make her crazy for more.

It did.

She ground herself on my face. I loved her eagerness, her demanding, her need. I tugged the panty off her.

“Oh, there she is,” I whispered against her wet cunt. My tongue stroked, I kissed, nipped, sucked faster.

I wanted her to come. I wanted her to go to their room with my orgasm on her body, the memory of my mouth on her pussy.

“Beck!” Her thighs shuddered around me, her legs gave way.

Mission accomplished.

I raised up over her and brushed her lips with mine, and she moaned loudly. “I’ll text you when Kaspar and I are done. Want you here when I get back. Naked.”

She panted. “Demanding rock star.”

* * *

Kaspar playedme the track he’d recently put together with Andoni.

“Hmm.” I moved the the beat. I liked the rhythms they had layered together. They were complex. Andoni’s drum brought a touch of exotic mystery to Kaspar’s electric rhythms, a resonant compelling beat.

Andoni easily altered the small drum’s tone with the movement of his fists. Striking the head near the center with the length of his fingers and palm, he produced an even deeper bass sound. Taking his hand off gave us a more open sound. He hit near the edge of the head with his fingertips and produced a higher-pitched sound. “You like it?”

“Very much. I need a drum like that in my life.”

Andoni’s face flushed, his head dipping in that Greek way I’d come to recognize that expressed agreement and pleasure as he continued playing, his fingers snapping, rolling and popping over the head of his drum.

My body swayed to his rhythm as I studied his hands working. His right hand created the heavy downbeats, while his left focused on accents and fills. I was definitely going to get a couple of these drums and bring them home, Zack would freak.

The low bass line Kaspar had going was all dark yearning in the first verses and then the pop uplift of the bridge was a flash of strong contrast.

“I was thinking you would jump in here—” he gestured to his laptop screen. Andoni’s tempo quickened. “Then there—to match the drum, then fall away, give a hit of contrast, then here…hug his tone, then take off on a riff. What do you think?”

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